Run
by tifaxfinalxheaven
Summary: Veser had been doing it all his life. He just never thought it would bring him into the care of stranger who comforted him in a way that made all sentiments of Lee fly out of his head. Ples/Veser.
1. Like You Always Do

**Title**: Run

**Rating**: T+

**Pairing(s)**: Ples/Veser, slight Lee/Veser.

**Summary**: Veser had been doing it all his life. He just never thought it would bring him into the care of stranger who comforted him in a way that made all sentiments of Lee fly out of his head.

**Setting**: Slightly AU. Set a year before the events of _Hanna is not a Boy's Name_.

**Disclaimer**: Ples, Veser, Lee, and all the other wonderful characters of _Hanna is not a Boy's Name_ are property of the amazing Tessa Stone.

* * *

_Run. _

_Just run like you always do, man. _

_One foot in front of the other - c'mon, you're not retarded._

_And don't forget to breathe. Breathing is kinda important when you want to stay alive. _

_In. Out. Skip the rinse, go straight to repeat. _

God, he was so sick and tired of this shit.

He had been running for an hour now. At least, it _felt _like an hour, if not more. The burn in his aching muscles had him biting back the whine in his throat, but he had made the decision to ignore the pain shortly after taking off.

His legs continued to carry him through the comforting - yet _disorienting_ - cover of night. The strides he took were as long as he could manage without slipping on the rain-slicked pavement and cracking his skull open further. It was still pouring from the sound of it, the crisp patter of droplets falling to the Earth the only disturbance this night apart from cars and late-night joints. And although Veser couldn't begin to distinguish the feeling of precipitation hitting his face from the cold sweat emerging from his pores, it was pleasant to hear something beside the horrendous sound of his own ragged breathing in his ears.

He was reaching his limit now, he knew, and it wouldn't be long before his legs trembled too viciously to be able support him. Eventually he would collapse from the exhaustion, and in his stupor, drag himself someplace where he could pass out in safety. Maybe behind a dumpster. Maybe in a 24/7 convenience store bathroom, though he tried to avoid places with people. They always tried to pull that annoying, 'Are you okay? I'll call an ambulance.' bullshit, and Veser had learned early on that his father did not appreciate picking him up from the hospital.

If only he had his cell-phone. This could have been solved with a single call to the only person he had on speed-dial, but alas, Veser had been careless. He darted out of the house a bleeding wreck without first grabbing his tie to sanity - his tie to _Lee_ - which lay on the frigid kitchen linoleum, where he had been moments before. Forgotten, it remained there, its only company being Veser's cooling blood splatter.

Instead of being in Lee's car, warmed by the heater as he watched the raindrops accumulate on the windshield, lazily brushing off the older man's inquiries with half-assed excuses, he was on Levitt and Gale. Freezing. Wet. Alone.

His vision was blurring now as he blindly crossed the street, cutting off a car and receiving a blare of the horn as a result. It hadn't been so good prior to his late night excursion either, as Mr. Hatch had fancied the idea of taking a meat tenderizer to the poor boy's skull, striking him well in the temple. Fortunately, it had been the flat side of the instrument, and while there was bleeding and bruising and swelling of the macabre nature, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

The buildings were swaying and blending into each other, the lights of the neon signs and passing cars overwhelming his throbbing head. Veser didn't remember stopping, but he had, and was currently fighting to remain upright as his lanky appendages below him wobbled and screamed uncle.

All of a sudden, he felt like laughing. What the hell had he done? Run downtown? For _what_? It's not like his father actually continued the chase past the doorway. No, no, that was bad for publicity - Mr. Hatch was, if anything, a man among the neighborhood men. Being seen in hot pursuit of one's son with bludgeoning tool in hand was counter-productive to the appearances he worked so hard to keep up.

"Bull _shit_." He said aloud, a chuckle creating waves in his voice. No one was around to hear him. Not that he personally cared if anyone caught wind of his profanities. The volume of his tenor cut the evening silence mercilessly. Veser dared someone to stop him, to challenge him. A little breather was all he needed - in a second he could get back to running away from his problems. For now, he would continue to scream in the dark.

"This is so fucking _lame_!"

By now, his whole frame was undulating, threatening to tip over and acquaint itself with the welcoming concrete. Veser's hands flew to his head, clutching the soaked flesh of his temples and scalp, wincing as his fingers ghosted the tender area where the blow had landed. His antifreeze colored eyes squeezed themselves shut as his brain experienced pain as if it were repeatedly impaling itself on a knife.

Veser laughed himself through the excruciating sensations running rampant in his abused body, the tears prickling his eyes regarded as nothing more than the rain hitting his cheeks. If he laughed, he wouldn't cry. If he laughed, he would smile. If he laughed, he could give himself the illusion of a time where things were simple and good - a time that really never existed in Veser Amaker Hatch's life.

And even if they did, they took form in a person.

"Heh. Where's that mopey bastard when you need him?" The teen growled through his too sharp teeth. The answer was caustic and cynical in his mind. _Jacking off to pictures of your mom, freak-boy._

"Oh. Right. _Fuck_." The laughter came in weak peals, stumbling maladroitly from his mouth which tasted strongly of iron and salt. Veser found himself on his knees, doubled over in what appeared to be a parking lot - his eyes were open and luminescent in the darkness, but hell if they _actually_ saw anything.

The legs of his pants were drenched now, but he didn't give a shit. Maybe, if he was lucky (which he was most definitely not), he could get pneumonia and die.

Yeah, _that'd_ be the life.

Veser wore himself out with his pathetic chuckles as rolled over onto his back. The water seeped in through his sweatshirt and coaxed the goose-bumps of his back out of hiding. It seemed he was shivering. From the cold? He wasn't sure. Could be the blood loss, or maybe the exertion.

Hell, Veser reasoned it could be a mix of all three. It was a fucking _party_.

The sky was so dark overhead, filled with immense, menacing-looking clouds. The moon was no where to be seen, undoubtedly blocked out by the all the cumulonimbus. The heavens grumbled and cracked above him and ephemeral flashes began to brighten the horizon, but the dazzling sight was wasted on the boy. He lingered on the pavement, tears freely cascading down his cheeks with the rain, and glared forward.

_The beauty of nature_. What a load of shit. Nature existed to bring you down, he'd learned as a child, to make sure only the strong and adaptable passed on their genes. Nature didn't smile upon the godforsaken spawn of a selfish man's desires and an enchanted _seal - _it wanted such an _abomination_ dashed from the face of the planet.

And despite his best efforts, Veser cried. A quiet, strangled whimper escaped his mouth and forged the way for the rest of his plaintive emotions. Hushed strings of curses and muddled confessions fell from his lips as he confided in no one but himself. The boy felt even more empty now than he did before; there was nothing to hold in now, nothing to take up the hollow space where solitude would come to reside.

He drew an arm over his eyes and sniffled in a way that made himself feel disgusted. He was so vulnerable - so _defenseless_ - as he gave into self-pity. Veser was sure he would presently lose a fight with a _kitten_, considering the situation and his repulsively sappy condition.

And he froze, every tired muscle in his body snapping taut as the sound of footsteps drew near him. Veser didn't realize he had been holding his breath until the sound of _heel-toe_, _heel-toe _had quickened and was deafening his sensitive ears. He didn't dare remove his forearm from its perch on his face to peek at whoever decided to drop by.

Whoever they were, they must have been right next to him, as the steps had stopped and there was the faint noise of someone humming to themselves as if mulling something over.

"I'm fine." Veser managed to croak out, voice suddenly very hoarse and thin with emotion. "Move it, will ya? I've got stuff to do."

It was a man who spoke to him. His tone was rather mellifluous and smooth, like - to use such a hackneyed phrase - a finely aged wine. Veser had never quite heard anything like it before. The timbre of his voice was gentle and calming, resonating with a faint vibrato as he replied, "My apologies for… _interrupting_, but I am not exactly certain how fine one can be when they are bleeding out on the tarmac."

"Believe me, I'm good." He said, stifling a laugh at the comment, more specifically, the _diction_. Who the hell did this guy think he was? "How 'bout you just fuck off, Miss Manners?"

"At least allow me to call - "

"Call an ambulance and I'll kill you." Veser gave a mirthless chuckle, but he remained nonetheless serious. "No joke here. I'm not in the mood to deal with that shit."

"I see." Came the voice that was rather easy on the teen's ears.

There was silence, as Veser didn't know what to say to such a bland statement and the stranger had nothing more to offer. A minute must have passed in which both of them simply remained in the quiet, both engulfed in their own thoughts.

But then Veser wondered if he had blacked out for a moment there. Fading in and out of consciousness was nothing new to him. Perhaps Miss Manners had left.

Warily, he removed his arm from his eyes and craned his head in the direction from which he had heard the voice come from. It took a moment for his vision to adjust, but when it did, the hazy image of a tall man towering over him registered in Veser's brain.

Even as he squinted, the teen couldn't clearly make out his features, but he picked up on the white in the stranger's black hair and the oddly proper clothes he wore.

"Look, mister," Veser started, beginning to feel uncomfortable and therefore evermore irate. "I know the whole 'good Samaritan' thing comes with some kind of rush that a sick fuck like you probably needs in his life, but I'm not…"

He trailed off, dizziness and nausea claiming him instantaneously. The setting spun in a mess of neon colors and black, like it would if he were on an ungodly fast carousel, and his dinner of Poptarts and orange juice lurched within his gut.

And all the control over his body went out the window. Veser flipped over hastily, trying to beat the mixture of bile and partially digested food as it crept up his esophagus, getting onto his hands and knees just in time to wretch. He gagged a couple times, then the contents of his stomach emptied onto the ground, merging with the blood that had begun to pool beneath him. Dry heaving came next in the line-up and Veser couldn't help wishing that a stray bolt of lightning just strike him dead now.

His breath hitched in his raw throat as he felt something press flat against his back, eyes widening at the touch. Veser looked away from the mess he had made on the tarmac and nearly jumped when he discovered the stranger on one knee beside him, concern reflected in his stare. It appeared he had clapped a hand between Veser's shoulder blades, encouraging him to expel the remaining sickness from his gut; Veser complied.

When he had successfully rid himself of everything in his stomach, Veser fell back on the wet pavement with the bitter taste of vomit and blood on his tongue. His whole form shook, sore and aching, and he could only think of laughing breathlessly now that this revolting affair was done with.

"What… What is it you find so amusing?" The stranger asked him with a furrowed brow, still kneeling. Veser studied him with his abnormally large eyes. The man looked so puzzled. And worried. If he were lovesick, he might even pass for Lee.

"Nothing." Veser returned, attempting to sit up to no avail. He sighed and sprawled himself over the parking lot ground, one knee bent up at the sky. "'S not raining anymore."

"Ah, yes." The older man noted, then looked down at Veser miserably. "You require medical attention."

"This shit again?" Veser emitted a small groan and shook his head. When would people _learn_? He had said he didn't want help and he _meant _it. All through school he had denied offers from the counselors and teachers, but they were persistent bastards. They had kept up their efforts all the way to his senior year of high school, and while Veser was impressed and almost _flattered_, he was also thoroughly exasperated. "I told you: I don't want fucking _medical attention_. You're wasting your time here."

"Time means naught to me." The stranger was oddly solemn then, his thin, long lips drawn in a line. Veser felt himself shudder apart from the base-line trembling he had going on already, but blamed it selectively on the breeze. He eased into a smile that quelled some of Veser's discomfort. "This evening, at least."

"Well, don't blame me when shit hits the fan." The teen sighed, finally mustering up enough strength to sit up, and rubbed his clammy face with even clammier hands. "I can't see you leaving me alone any time soon, so, uh. You have a phone?"

The older man nodded, reaching into his breast pocket to pull out a small phone. Veser took it wordlessly and flipped it open with unsteady hands. He knew only one number by heart, and punched it in, hoping he would pick up.

_Ring._

_Ring. _

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring. _

_Ring. _

"Hey - "

"Lee! Man, you - "

"You've reached Lee Falun. Sorry I'm unavailable at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks."

A lump formed in Veser's throat. Embarrassing. Although, that wasn't the first time Lee had got him with that message. He was always trying to get him to change it, so he might escape future humiliation in public, but his best friend had just laughed and said he'd "think about it".

Veser looked over to see that his gentlemanly acquaintance had given him some space, and was presently leaning against a sleek little car. His eyes still on him, still filled with some cheesy form of concern.

It took a moment for Veser to realize the phone had beeped a few seconds ago. He scrambled to think of something - _anything_ - to say.

"Uh, Lee… _Fuck_. Um. Hey, man. You asleep already? _Weak_. Anyway, I left my phone at home, so I'm calling you on, uh, a friend's phone. Yeah. I don't really… know where the hell I am. I ran into a fucking pole. Can't think straight." He laughed pathetically at his own lie, but he knew Lee wouldn't read into it further than he needed to and that was all that mattered. "Well, I guess I'll… call you later. Bye."

Veser snapped the phone shut with such vigor that the 'Samaritan' flinched. Sure, he could have been more gentle, but he was flustered and chagrined and he felt utterly _loathsome _- all he wanted was to merely pass out and be done with all the shit.

And that was exactly what he did.


	2. The Right Start

When Veser came to, he noticed a few things before he had even opened his eyes.

One, he felt like sheer, unadulterated chicken shit. His head throbbed and pulsated in swells of pain, subjecting him to the kind of agony that had him gnashing his strangely pointed teeth with such vim his gums bled. Electric sensations spread throughout his nerves like wildfire, but were easily overlooked when his brain seemed to have gone through a blender, aching and acutely sensitive as it pounded against its bony confines. Absently, he wondered if this is what it was like for Tom every time Jerry hit him with a mallet or 'misplaced' an anvil.

God, he had always felt bad for that cat.

Secondly, the events of last night - actually, the entire day itself - were muddled and foggy in his recollection. Brief flashes of obscure moments played on the backs of his eyelids, voices ringing heavy in his ears. There was the harsh crash of glass hitting the floor, followed by a tenor - his own, Veser was sure - muttering quick apologies as he hastened to collect the well-dispersed shards off the floor. Images skipped around, indistinguishable to his rapt scrutiny, while mumbles amounted to incomprehensible shouts and screams.

The next thing he remembered had him wishing he hadn't. His brow furrowed deeply, carving wells and wrinkles into his bruised skin like wire into clay. And if his eyes could have sealed themselves any tighter, they would have, all in order to brace himself against something that he _knew_ would tear down his walls and - like the wine flute he had knocked over - shatter him.

Veser vaguely noted his nails digging into the rough palms of his hands and his legs brushing over linen as his knees withdrew to his chest.

'_Jesus fucking Christ. Your first day back in this house and you break something. That's great.'_

He knew there had been a cheeky reply to that. The evident vexation in his father's tone had been too tempting to pass up; Veser didn't spare more than a second's thought to the consequences of his exploits. He endured the rest of the memory, going through every _instant_ desperately trying to wrest himself from the engagement. Lamentably, it was a fruitless effort; he could nearly _feel_ the burning, crushing grasp of his father's hand on his bicep. The man's breath had been hot and vile as it misted over his face, reeking of alcohol as he barked his utter discontent.

A fist connected with Veser's stomach, and in the moments the boy had struggled to regain his breath, a tool of metal and wood had been stolen from one of the kitchen drawers. In cold blood, Mr. Hatch had lifted his hand and brought the instrument down with such speed that Veser didn't have the opportunity to see it coming. A sickening _crack_ resounded within the confines of the room, preceding the pronounced thud of a figure hitting the floor, crumpled.

Veser found himself sated by the flashbacks - in fact, he could call himself nauseatingly bloated. No longer curious as to what transpired the day before, he saw no reason to linger on them.

It was winter vacation, wasn't it? At least that much had come back to him. He had only planned on returning home for a small number of days, all the while abstaining from stepping foot outside his bedroom. The rest of the house was dangerous territory. A single wrong move or ill-fated slip of the tongue and it was a blatant guarantee you would be one sorry son-of-a-bitch by the time the day was over.

Comforted by the false sense of security his old room provided, Veser had made it his personal goal to avoid contact with his father and mother. That was, until Lee came to spend those couple special nights for Christmas, as he did every year. It was then Veser could walk about the residence freely, without the debilitating fear of beatings or scorn or cold indifference, as his parents had their appearances to keep up. And apart from all the benefits that were customary with his arrival, the best part of the season was Lee himself.

Veser had always heard his classmates talk of peeking at their presents and - while they weren't surprised when the day came around, secretly aware of what was hidden beneath all the decorum - they were still just as enraptured by what they had received as if they hadn't a clue to begin with. He figured the feeling was the same when he heard that tell-tale _knock-knock-knock_ at the door on Christmas Eve.

With Lee around, there would be someone to talk to over a cup of eggnog or hot cocoa, someone to laugh with as the smell of dinner wafted through the halls and into their noses.

Someone to change _house_ into _home_.

Ultimately, it was the little moments they could share that made every bit of hell - every dirty look, curse, beating, whatever life threw at him - so fucking worth it.

But things did not go according to plan, as they seldom ever did. He had been foolish to think he could escape his childhood just by being a legal, university-attending _adult_. Eighteen years old - that was a synonym for _invincible_, for fuck's sake.

Yeah. _Right_.

He regretted being so damn cocksure that he could handle things simply because he had lived by himself in the dorms - relying on no one, trusting no one. Walking through that door with his luggage carelessly slung over his shoulder, Veser was too late to realize those things didn't matter. In his family's eyes he was still the ugly, shameful mutt he'd always been.

Yet, this outline of events was nothing new and nothing remotely shocking. Truth be told, he had stopped being surprised by his parents' behavior by the time he could wipe his own ass. It was just tiresome to go through the motions, and as per usual, he felt drained and emotionally wasted in the aftermath.

Veser sighed, unwilling to open his eyes and greet the fucked up world this morning. If it _was _morning. Fuck. Was it even what day he thought it was? A throaty groan left his lips as he deemed his brain useless mush, acting more for inner embellishment than anything. Whatever the case, he would have to get up eventually.

Well. _Maybe_. The mattress beneath him was incredibly plush, giving slightly with each tiny movement Veser made, but firm enough to keep his back from tweaking out on him. An impressive feat. Good job, bed.

_Wait_.

Veser's eyes sprung open immediately, wide and stretched so far his lids almost _hurt_. There was brief moment in which he was blinded by the sun filtering in through the Venetian shutters overhead, his dilated pupils taking in a vicious amount of the garish light. Veser rolled onto his stomach, fighting the sheets entangling his legs, finding refuge in the darkness of cool pillows. Within the confines of his chest, his heart was pumping in erratic palpitations, threatening to burst out of his ribcage.

This wasn't the street he last remembered standing on.

This wasn't his room.

This wasn't his bed.

This wasn't _anything_ he was prepared for.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

It seemed it had finally happened. He had been kidnapped - or _whatever_ you call it with adults, Veser thought it all the same - while passed out on some obscure corner in the city. Shitfuck. Veser sifted his fingers anxiously through the locks of his sleep-mussed hair, yanking out knots in his frustration. For a while, he wondered what kind of twisted asshat would just go right ahead and pick an eighteen-year-old boy with freakish teeth and bug-eyes up off the street. Not to mention he must have looked like he had just got kicked out of _Fight Club_ what with all the blood and vomit and injury staining his motionless body.

Speaking of vomit, there was a god-awful taste on his tongue. Something had to be done here, Veser had decided, but hell if he knew exactly _what_.

Veser warily pushed himself into a sitting position on the mattress, the springs whining quietly under his weight as he crossed his legs beneath him. He grimaced as the light hit his visage for the second time. From what he could see (which was very little), the sun wasn't yet high. It must've been early still. Instinctively, his dark-lined eyes lowered and scoured the room, though not before he aggressively shut the blinds.

There was a grandfather clock against the opposite wall, long and ancient-looking with its fading mahogany stain. The narrow ebony hands were fixed and unmoving, casting warped shadows across its yellowing face. It seemed the clock had stopped and - if the state of the antique was any indication - had not been attended to for a while now, frozen in time.

Squinting and doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his skull, Veser could make out the time - 12:21.

The rest of the room was fairly empty, save for plain-looking escritoire near the door and lonely stool neatly parked in the alcove beneath it. The desktop was bare and seemed to be collecting a thin blanket of dust over its dark finish; no one had done any work there for at _least _a month.

The wallpaper was of a lavender damask, in oddly good condition, considering the rest of the furnishings. It seemed the room had a specific color-theme, as the duvet and sheets the bed were a rich aubergine shade, and - as Veser made to peek over the edge - the carpet was a royal violet.

Someone needed to call their goddamn interior decorator. Seriously. All of this purple wasn't doing _shit _for his headache.

Veser pressed his palms into his eye sockets, sighing roughly.

He wanted to go _home_.

… Wherever _that_ was.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Veser jumped in his spot on the mattress, hands flying from his face so that his eyes might dart around and discover the source of the voice.

_That _voice.

The mellow, dulcet one that flowed like honey - rather, like _merlot_, as honey was something he would call grossly saccharine and associated with an unpleasant stickiness between his fingers. It reigned all in the missing pieces of last night together, the revelation hitting Veser with a delayed impact.

He looked to the doorway where who else but Miss Manners stood, looking tired and faintly satisfied. The man's face was narrow, his eyes small but unassuming as he stared at Veser from behind half-moon spectacles. He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties from the light wrinkles around his thin mouth and brow. There were streaks of white at his temples and a tuft at his forehead that looked too perfectly placed - too _neat_ - amongst the black to be natural; Veser found himself offhandedly thinking they made him look dignified in an almost 'rebel-without-a-cause' kind of way.

In spite of finding agreeable things about him, Veser glowered at the stranger from before, teeth bared in a scowl.

Explanation. _Now_.

Surprisingly, the gentleman seemed to get the message, expression flashing blank for a moment before settling into one of calm. "Ah, you're probably wondering where you are? I see. I would, too, I suppose." He started, slowly, with that warm, resonant vibrato like smoke over gravel. "When you lost consciousness last night, I wasn't quite sure of what I should do. Your contact did not call back, nor I could I reach him when I attempted to re-dial. I thought you might come to within the hour, however, it had begun to rain again and it would have been irresponsible of me to leave you out in the cold. Keeping in mind how averse to medical help you had been, well, I decided that it would be best if you rested here."

"Where's here?" Veser asked impatiently. He'd have to remind himself to burn Lee's present and replace it with a shitty lump of coal.

"312 Brunger Avenue." The man returned, obligingly. He fumbled with something under his arm, something made of fabric. Clothing, probably. He continued. "I left a message for your friend - a Mr. Falun, was it? Yes, I told him you were in a steady condition and staying here until he was available to retrieve you. Although, you really should be examined by a doctor, you know. There is a good chance you might have sustained a concu - "

Veser offered a thick hum in acknowledgement, curtly breaking off the older man's advice. He'd heard it all before. After a while, it ceased to be entertaining. "Whassat?"

The stranger cleared his throat. "Ah, well, you see, when your stomach expelled - "

"When I puked." Veser corrected him. Man, this guy was a stiff if he ever did see one.

The alleged 'stiff' nodded hesitantly. "Yes. When you did, you managed to get some on yourself, so I took the liberty of washing what had been soiled." He took a few strides over to the foot of the bed, legs impossibly long and elegant, and set the pile on the comforter.

Veser felt his cheeks grow warm as he realized his sweatshirt was resting upon a pair of jeans. They looked awfully similar to _his_ jeans, but Veser was positive this strange old guy didn't have the audacity to take his pants off. He was _positive_.

"That reminds me," The stranger went on, pulling a small item of leather from his back pocket and placing it gingerly upon Veser's jacket. "Forgive me for prying, but I wanted to know your name when I called your friend, so I checked for any sort of identification. You will find that no money is missing."

"Not that there was any money to take." He didn't make a move to touch his wallet. Instead, he glanced down to confirm that he was indeed only in his boxers and v-neck. _Shit_. What a fucking creeper.

"Veser." The boy looked up a little too quickly, not minding the sound of his name when it came out of the good Samaritan's mouth. "That's an interesting name."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Is it a family name?"

"No."

"That is… unfortunate. Is it an ethnic name?"

Veser shot the stranger a heated glare, a scowl spreading over his features as he studied the stranger's face. There was no hostility, no mocking, no fear - no _anything_ that he had become accustomed to seeing in people's faces when they looked at him. Just… friendly interest, though its authenticity was questionable.

He didn't know why this weird guy kept trying to talk to him. Hell, he couldn't begin to fathom why he was still trying to _help_ him. This newfound attention was foreign, and to a point, claustrophobic to the youth. It would have been different if this man were a classmate or teacher - then they would have _some_ reason to exchange words or quips or whatever. But here, there was no basis for altercation, no expectation of either of them to fraternal or good-natured. They were merely victims of circumstance brought together in collocation, although Veser would argue that he was a victim of this stranger's need to play the hero.

He quickly dismissed the possibility that the antique of a man was merely a talkative kind of guy. He hardly fit the image of that person who started chatting you up on the bus about stupid things like the weather and the economy and _oh-my-goodness-what-happened-to-your-teeth _as you made your way to the movie theatre.

Veser partly blamed the pain and confusion of the situation for his irritability. He was unsure whether to strike or stand down, much like a wounded animal, cornered and skittish.

"Does it matter?" He replied brusquely, albeit evenly, speaking in undertones of apprehension. Veser brushed off the feeling of his confidence ebbing as he had to sneer _up _at kind-faced gentleman. "'Cause, look, creepy old guy, I'm not _asking_ you to stand here like a fucking dumbass and make small talk, all right?"

There was silence as the stranger looked oddly remorseful, gray eyes finding some kind of solace in the carpeting.

"I… ah, I see." He said finally, brow twitching very slightly as he forced a polite smile at the boy. "I meant no offense, if you felt… _affronted, _by any chance."

Guilt.

Veser didn't feel it very often, but when he did, it was hell on his nerves.

He rubbed his face tiredly, prolonging an exasperated, full-bodied sigh. _Jeez_. Who the hell did this guy think he was, making him feel like a complete asshole?

"Stop it. Just fucking… _stop_."

"Wh-What?"

"This whole… _I'm-such-a-great-person, here-let-me-help-you _shit. I don't appreciate it." He growled, hands fisting themselves in the sheets.

People were all the same; they all thought they could make a difference.

Their motives always proved selfish; no one ever did the right thing because it would benefit another person.

Not that Veser could really talk about doing the 'right' thing.

A rough bark left his throat, a chuckle turned sarcastic and cynical. "Hell, if you _really_ wanna know, I can't fucking _stand_ it. I don't need someone doting on me, so just shove your nice guy act where the sun don't shine, all right?"

Veser would have laughed at the dubious expression claiming the older man's face had he not been so thoroughly annoyed. There was something oddly comical in the way his eyes widened and how his expressive lips twisted without purpose before separating in inaudible bewilderment.

"And, while you're at it, stop apologizing when there's nothing to apologize for. I mean, _shit_. Don't you know an apology loses worth when you spread it around like the fucking _plague_?"

He dimly recalled someone telling him that before, although he was sure there had been less swearing and more consolation there - and, possibly, a firm hand on his shoulder. Veser had resolved to play it safe from then on; he would never say he was sorry unless his ass depended on it.

Across from him, not more than a few feet away, the gentleman had crossed his arms across his pin-striped vest. His expression melted into one of light amusement, his mouth quirked at the corners, an eyebrow lifted not more than hair. Something about him seemed almost… impressed? If not, _condescending_?

His fingers itched to wipe that budding smirk off his face.

In the silence that took over, Veser felt his face burn with something he couldn't name and made to busy himself with grabbing his jacket, awkwardly snaking his arms through their respective sleeves.

"Screw it. Forget I said anything." He grumbled, snatching his wallet and pushing it into his pocket. It wasn't like the man was actually listening to him, anyway.

What was Veser to this man if not just another teenage prick to who listened to that _gangsta-rap _and went to parties where stupid people got stupid drunk off their stupid faces? Hell, Miss Manners probably thought he had been inebriated when he found him. It would explain the word vomit. And the _actual_ vomit. And, possibly, the head injury.

Although, Veser Hatch wasn't like most teenage pricks in the fact he did not know names of hip-hop artists or rappers or whatever. In truth, he preferred Queen, The Cure, and - in the modern day and age - Muse. He did not typically attend parties, unless reluctantly dragged along by some friend he'd made in some class who looked at him with some fascination that only be called _unnerving_, as he was rarely ever invited to any. And when he _did _drink…

Haha.

Well, it wasn't for petty fucking social outings.

"This is all very… ah, enlightening, but I think you might misunderstand me. In fact - oh. Wait. Excuse me a moment, won't you?" The stranger hummed for a moment, unbothered by Veser's piercing stare as he padded from the bed to the door, a hand fiddling with something in his pocket. He seemed impervious to all the threat and raw emotion within the acidic green eyes that followed him as he withdrew a gold pocket-watch from his trousers, chain dangling from its top, and flipped the intricately embossed cover open with a thumb.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. _

_Ti… … … ck. Tock. _

_Tick. Tock. Tick Tock._

_Tick… … … Tock. _

Despite him being in profile, Veser noticed the man's eyes widen slightly before narrowing into grim, half-mast slits.

He was… getting worked up over something as trivial as a faulty watch? And as far as to _interrupt _a conversation, no less? How the hell had he known it was spazzing out, anyway? Veser hadn't heard a thing.

He felt his brain whizzing around in his skull, treading the fine limits of his comprehension abilities, about to short-circuit with any further cogitation. _Jesus_, this man made no sense. No sense at _all_.

"Now that that's out of the way, where was I?" The gentleman continued, fixing an accommodating smile on his worn face as he turned to face Veser from the door. The gold trinket was snapped shut in his hold, the sound like a needle thrust through the palpable quiet, and was slipped back into his pocket. "Ah, yes, I don't quite believe that we've gotten off to the right start."

Veser opened his mouth to protest but was quickly beaten to the punch.

"I," He went on, placing a sizable hand upon his breast. His voice was steady and even. "am Ples Tibenoch. As you are already aware, this is my house, and as long as you remain here, you are my guest and shall be treated as such.

"Furthermore, how I go about my business and attend to my _guests_ is purely my own concern, although your input is definitely welcome. Hospitality is not supposed to be provocative in the least." His hand dropped from his chest, fitting the brass curve of the doorknob as his smile tugged at the corners. "There is breakfast served downstairs. I thought you might be hungry. However, I advise against dallying - food is never as appetizing when cold as it would be when fresh and warm. Time is of the essence."

The door opened.

It shut.

Ples had gone.

Meanwhile, Veser could only stare dumbly at the oak wood door, lost in his questions and misconceptions as his eyes blindly examined the stain, looking but not truly seeing. He couldn't help but feel like he had missed something - something _big_ - and would not know what that something was until he climbed off the bed, left the purple room, and tried to ignore the hard realization that he'd made himself out to be a top-notch asshole.

"Not that fucking hard, Ves." He mumbled to himself, collecting his folded jeans. "Not that hard at all."


End file.
